


From The Director's Collection

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Coulson is great at emotional support, Dancing, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Music, Resolved Sexual Tension, Ridiculous amounts of fluff, Skye and her Huge Crush on Coulson, Slow Build, Unresolved Sexual Tension, and bad sex metaphors, but seriously ALL THE FLUFF, these two sentimental fools, who want to have sex all the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 18,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2745773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of sketches about Skye exploring Coulson's record collection - and her own relationship with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the [fanmix](http://fuckyeahskoulson.tumblr.com/post/107924376795/skoulson-romfest-2k15-day-1-the-directors).

**lester young | the best of lester young | 1987**

"Which ones are good?" she asks, going through the stack of records.

Coulson, watching from across the room, crosses his arms.

"What do you mean which ones are good? They're _mine_. They're all good."

"Sorry. I thought somebody had left them here or something."

"No. They showed up when I asked Billy to retrieve some of my personal stuff from a SHIELD safehouse."

Skye considers the stack. Around twenty-five or thirty records in the box. Not too many, not a full collection – she imagines the rest of Coulson's records, like other stuff she owns, is somewhere else, locked and safe in a storage unit somewhere. So she's curious about this little sample of it. This box with the chosen ones.

"I should have imagined," she says. Coulson gives her a funny look. "You're a collector."

"They're old. I don't do that anymore."

"What? Listen to music?"

He nods. "I don't really have the time."

She goes through them. The dates. He's right, the release dates stop in the 2000s. Though the music itself is usually much older – the names Skye recognizes anyway. He's not up to speed, it's not like she was expecting to find Lady Gaga in here.

"Yeah, I guess we don't, do we," she says. "Normal people out there have time to read books and catch up with their tv shows. They go to museums, take walks in parts. Must be nice."

"That's the deal," Coulson tells her.

"The deal? You mean the deal being SHIELD?"

"Yes. It's a different kind of life."

"And the two can never interesect?" she asks.

He stares at her a moment. He probably knows that, though posed in a light tone, it's a serious question. Skye has pretty much given up on a lot of stuff normal people take for granted anyway, but a part of her doesn't really believe that.

"Well, we have the player and some records," he says, smiling a bit sadly and a bit brightly. "Maybe it's not necessary to give this up too."

Skye looks at him and feels... she doesn't know, proud maybe, which is a weird thing to feel towards your fifty year old boss. They've never talked about this subject but some time ago it didn't seem like he would be so unwilling to let go of that other life, or at least a shred of it. It's not much, maybe, just some _songs_ , but it's something.

She picks up one of the records.

She finds another one, by the player, but away from Coulson's stack.

"Yours, too?"

"This one somebody left it behind," he says. Skye had been fascinated by the idea of people having already used the base before them, how they found tiny traces of other presences around them when they moved in. Fury kept the place in good condition, and it had been in use for a while as late as the late 1990s. They found a lot of stuff left behind: books mainly, some clothes, personalized coffee mugs even. Coulson looks at the record in Skye's hands. "Good one, though."

"Can I?"

He nods in the direction of the player.

Skye stands in front of it, staring at it, a bit worried about messing something up.

"You know how to use it?" Coulson asks.

"You just drop the needle and – no, I don't know how to use it."

"You just have to select the speed here, release the arm safety here, and push this button."

"Which speed should I select?"

"It depends on the record. I only have a couple of singles so it's going to be mostly ten inches records. Put it on 78."

He makes the gesture and Skye does it, pushing the little lever to where it says 78.

"Pick a record."

"Which one is good again?"

"They're all good." Skye rolls her eyes at him. "Do you like jazz?"

She doesn't, she thinks. But she thinks that doesn't matter right now. And she knows Coulson loves the stuff, she's not about to dampen his spirits like this.

"Honestly? I don't know," she tells him. "You're not the only one who hasn't had the time to explore their musical inclinations."

"Here, try this one."

"Okay. Now I drop the needle or –"

"First push the button."

"Right."

This is fun, Skye thinks. It's almost something normal people would do. And Coulson seems to be enjoying himself.

"The record should be spinning before you drop the needle. There. Gently, gently. These briefcase models don't have the sturdiest of arms, it's too easy to break them. Believe me, I used to have one."

She likes the little personal details that sometimes escape from him when he is distracted.

She is surprised when Coulson puts his hand over hers to guide the gesture, to make sure she doesn't go too fast. His hand is warm and callused and Skye realizes they don't touch that much. Not really. It's not a deliberate touch, he really is trying to teach her. It's awkward for a moment and then it isn't. He is standing so close that every time Skye breathes her back brushes against Coulson's chest. But it doesn't feel strange.

She gets the knack of it soon – she tries dropping the needle a couple of times, and finally she lets the record go on.

Okay, maybe jazz is not that bad. She actually likes the first song. Or maybe she just needed to be in the right headspace to appreciate it.

Or maybe it's just that it's one of Coulson's records, simple as that.


	2. Chapter 2

**bill withers | still bill | 1972**

"He's definitely ruined the record now," Skye says, gently lifting the needle. She didn't notice the music was still on when she called Coulson to tell him about Ward's well-timed phone call.

"Trying to track it is useless," Coulson is saying. "Anything else you think he gave you?"

Skye thinks about it. Coulson is better at this whole profiling thing, but she can try.

"The thing about unfnished business, he's definitely going after his brother."

"I'll call the senator. But I'm not sure he'll want SHIELD's help."

There's also his promise to see her but Skye doesn't want to dwell on that – her whole skin crawls just thinking about it and conveying the whole thing to Coulson once was more than enough. He too looked like his skin was crawling.

Coulson looks around his office and, like Skye, he seems to feel this sanctuary has somehow been violated by Ward's call. The coffee has gone cold. Skye feels a bit ridiculous standing in front of her boss in her comfy sweater and pajama slacks. The feeling of warmth and safety Skye had felt inhabiting this space have disappeared. And Coulson looks rough.

"Sorry," she says. "I should have let you sleep."

He was in bed when she called him. Sleeping late, after the kind of day he had yesterday. He needed it too. He hadn't slept in what, three days? Skye suspects he will never disclose the hardest details of his ordeal carving the alien symbols. Perhaps he means to spare her. It had felt good to march him to his room last night. He practically collapsed after the evening drawing plans to find the damned city. And still Skye had to drag him by the arm, though his resistance was for show. It had felt good to wake up this morning, early, knowing he was enjoying some very needed rest, while she worked, while she had his office for herself for the next couple of hours.

And now...

No.

Skye is not about to allow this.

She walks around Coulson's desk, back to the record player.

She puts Bill Withers on again.

"I thought you said it was ruined," Coulson comments.

Skye shakes her head in a resolved way.

"I'm not going to let Ward ruin anything else for me."


	3. Chapter 3

**the meters | look-ka py py | 1969**

"You have some pretty groovy records, you know," she tells him.

Coulson shrugs.

"I'm a pretty groovy guy."

Skye can't believe he actually said that. Her eyes widen. "Ohmygod."


	4. Chapter 4

**etta james | losers weepers | 1970**

She likes listening to them when she is alone. 

She realizes it's a weird thing, but he said it didn't bother him. 

It's like opening a little door to his world, in a way. And she's been curious about Coulson since the moment she met him. It has never felt like she had a complete picture, and it's bit frustrating considering she's never felt so close to another human being, after all they've gone through. They've gone through almost everything together and there are still so many things she doesn't know about him. Or didn't know. Like his taste in music.

Coulson knows what she is doing with his stuff and he lets her. Maybe he wants her to know him better. As Skye sits on her bed, borrowing the record player and borrowing the box of records, she feels Coulson is sharing something very intimate with her, even though he's not here. And just look at the man, he obviously has intimacy problems, so Skye appreciates it doubly.

Most of the records were collected in his youth or are remembrances from it. The jazz stuff is newer, he started with that in the 1990s. But before that – a regular young guy in many respects. Going through his records is a bit like reading his diary. The rebellious punk phase. The pre-teen heavy metal. The obligatory Velvet Underground record. A lot of female singers Skye has no explanation for. She wants to ask about that.

She picks one of those tonight, the intriguing lady singers Coulson's life seems to be filled with. 

It becomes some sort of ritual. Things are not going super great with her – the whole thing about her _evolution_ , she feels like a part of her is slipping away – and listening to his music soothes her. Soothes her fears a bit. Perhaps letting her borrow all this is Coulson's way of trying to help. He does stuff like that. She starts the player with reverence, fingering the needle with love and care just like he taught her. 

She lies down in bed and closes her eyes. The upbeat rhythm of the song helps her breathe. Yes, it's somehow almost _too intimate_. She thinks about how physical vinyl records feel, as opposed to CDs or sound files loaded onto iPods. And these records – his records – are old and well-loved. They are real, the deep grooves, you can hear it in the cracking noise around the song ("I should probably buy a new player," Coulson had said, but she knew he loves this one, for all its limitations), you can run your fingertips along and feel them if you wanted. Deep grooves, she thinks, taking deep breaths.

Skye sighs, opening her eyes – she's getting too weird about the whole thing. She decides to just enjoy the tunes.

Because whatever is going on with Coulson and women singing, it's a good choice.


	5. Chapter 5

**pablo casals | el arte de pablo casals – edición conmemorativa vol. 2 | 1971**

"This one is weird, though. It's the only classical music stuff you have. What happened?"

Coulson looks at the record sleeve and it's like he's somewhere else entirely, his face falls.

"It's not mine," he says, in a quiet horrible voice Skye's never heard before. "I borrowed it from someone who was trying to introduce me to that kind of music, and I never had the chance to give it back."

There's no mistaking the tone. She's an idiot. And idiot and an insensitive brute. Of course. She wasn't paying attention.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

She knows the record is from Audrey. But that's not a subject they have touched between them. For some reason Skye feels awkward discussing her, like it's rude for her to say her name. She returns the record very quickly to the stack, so quickly that it gains her a look from Coulson.

"It's okay, Skye, it doesn't matter."

But it does matter.

And in a weird way it matters to her. It matters to her a lot.

The smile Coulson is giving her is benevolent and she understands he doesn't want to talk about it.

"I think maybe you should... give it back," Skye says anyway, unable to help herself. "It's not nice to borrow stuff and not return it." She pauses. "I'm pretty sure the person you got it from they'll be happy to have it back."

Coulson freezes visibly, despite his best efforts not to let it show. This is the first time they have talked about personal stuff in such a direct way. Skye remembers when she wasn't able to even say the word "boyfriend" in front of him. But that was like a thousand years ago. It's not exactly shyness now.

"I think I'm afraid to find out," he says, his smiled a little more strained, but still genuine.

She nods. "Yeah, that I can understand."

"I never even got the chance to listen to it in the first place. I was too busy to pay attention in those days," he adds, voice full of such longing Skye feels the impulse to hug him. 

She doesn't hug him. Instead she searches the stack again and finds the one classical music album among jazz and funk and a lot of Motown.

"Maybe you should give it a try," she tells him, handing it over.


	6. Chapter 6

**motörhead | overkill | 1979**

"You like this kind of stuff?" Skye asks, with a grimace. Just that cover, what the hell. 

"I liked it when I was seventeen."

"Really? Why?"

"Have you listened to it?" he asks.

Skye laughs. "No way." They are both sitting companionably on the floor of his office, legs crossed, and Skye is imagining Coulson at seventeen listening to this loud crap. It's an endearing image of sorts. She knows seventeen year old boys are the worst but something gives her the feeling Coulson wasn't all that bad. A bit sad maybe. A bit rough around the edges – but then again he is _still_ bit rough around the edges, for all his polished exterior, Skye thinks, as Coulson watches her laugh at his heavy metal period, looking pleased with this development.


	7. Chapter 7

**tom waits | closing time | 1973**

"You got the record player in here. That's nice. Thanks."

"Not a problem."

He looks intensely uncomfortable, looking at her from the other side of the barrier.

"I know you don't want me in here," she says. Coulson has this expression that is stern and pleading at the same time. "But that was our deal. If I can't control my – my powers..." Skye still can't use those words properly. "I can't be around people."

She is a bit dizzy yet, having just come out of sedation.

They have prepared the cell to be as comfortable and somehow "homey" as possible, it even smells clean and nice, but still. She likes that the music was already waiting for her.

"Coulson, I requested this," she reminds him. "You haven't locked me up or anything. Don't look so gloomy."

He draws a long breath. He looks more tired than she feels.

"I just don't like the idea of you being in here," he says. He doesn't have to add why.

She could think about it as ironic; this was the place she used to associate with nightmares, sometimes really vivid ones –the ones that didn't have Ward breaking out of this cell had Skye somehow being locked with him in it– and now she is being used to contain one. 

"I know," she tells him. "But I need to feel like I'm not going to hurt anyone else for a while."

"You haven't hurt anyone," he says. "Destroy some SHIELD property, sure."

"Yeah, and we so have the funds to spare."

That startles a chuckle out of him. That's good. Skye feels a bit more normal.

"I'll take it out of your next paycheck," Coulson tells her.

Skye snorts. "What paycheck?"

She goes to the wall near the stairs and sits down, on the floor, her back against the cold solidness of it. She breathes in and out, like her training has taught her. The beating of her heart is even. She's got this. She still doesn't know the extent of the threat she poses, if she can bring the whole Playground down from here. But that isn't the point. The illusion of control can bring on the real thing. She has learned this and holds on to the idea. 

The problem was she became complacent; she had been doing so well that she forgot this is a constant effort, that, at least for now, she can never forget.

She listens to the song for a while. Coulson says nothing.

"I like this one," she tells him. "I've heard you playing it a lot."

"That's why I put it on today," he says. "It's one of my favorites."

"Thanks." She feels bad about repeating herself, but she's the one who has been clinging to Coulson pathetically through all this mess, the least she can do is appear grateful. She notices him going to sit right next to her, but on the other side of the invisible barrier. "No, you don't have to keep me company. I'm okay."

"Skye..." he says, not buying her bullshit for a moment.

" _Coulson_."

She tilts her head.

And she honestly doesn't want him to feel somehow responsible for staying with her but – she doesn't want to be alone right now, even though she knows she _has to_. This other her, this part inside that scares her, she doesn't want to be on her own when she has to face it. She could never tell Coulson that, for all she trusts him. She can't let _anyone_ know how scared she is, how scared she's been all this time.

There is certain illusion that there is nothing separating them, the way they are sitting now.

Coulson hugs his legs, pressing his knees to his chest. It can't be a comfortable position – and wasn't he the one who complained about not being flexible enough? 

"I just want to listen to some music," he says. "And since you have my record player..."

He's basically asking for permission to stay with her.

If there wasn't a laser barrier between them she'd probably take his hand in hers.

Instead she just says "Thank you" very quietly, repeating herself.


	8. Chapter 8

**duke ellington | carnegie hall concerts december 1944 | 1977**

"It's a big office. Yours?"

"Of course not. Director Coulson's. But he lets me use it whenever I need." Miles gives her a look. "It's not like that."

"Isn't it?"

" _Miles_."

He lets it go, but Skye has to admit Miles' ambiguous assumptions leave a trace of something warm and unsettling in her and she doesn't know exactly why. Perhaps it's because it's such a flattering assumption.

"I thought we would have more peace to work here than in the common room, with everybody buzzing around, but hey, if you are uncomfortable..."

"I'm okay wherever you want me," he says, oddly conciliatory for Miles. He still looks spooked – like he is realizing just now how close he came to real danger and how much he owes to the team that extracted him.

He was a bit unnerved by seeing Agent May again, which was slightly entertaining to watch, but mostly Skye still feels the old protective instinct towards him. That doesn't seem to ever go away. She sneaks a long look at him – still shaken but it's amazing how Miles hasn't changed at all. The haircut. The eyes. Oh she's sure he has changed, but she can't see it, she's stuck. She just can't see it. The same sweet boy. The same longing, because Skye misses being in love with him. There was something gentle and uncomplicated about that.

"Listen, SHIELD is going to protect you," she assures him and Miles smiles one of his slow, sloppy smiles, "but you messed up. You should have talked to me before acting on your own."

"I thought I was helping," he says.

"That's a thing with you."

He looks down. At least this time he didn't do it for money, he thought he was genuinely helping fight Hydra. And Skye doesn't feel resentment towards him, not anymore. The old disappointment remains, because Miles had come so close to meaning so much to her, so close to some sort of ideal, but there is no viciousness in it. He isn't perfect, but he's not a monster.

"Skye, are you okay?" he asks, running his hand lovingly over her back, a gesture of old familiarity that used to prelude even better things. Skye would be lying if she said she didn't miss being touched like this sometimes.

But it scares her, too, for new reasons. She pulls away.

"What do you mean? I'm okay. Why?"

"You keep looking at your watch all the time," Miles points out.

_It's not a watch._

Skye looks down. Her heart rate is a bit above the usual in these past couple of minutes but still within safe numbers. Safe numbers are what's important. Safe is the goal. She steps back from Miles and his inquiring gaze and his warm hands.

"It has to do with..." she starts, and she really wants to tell him everything, she wants to have him say it doesn't change things. But even people closer to her than Miles is have felt unsafe in her presence. "It's nothing. I'll explain some other time. Let's get to work."

Miles sets shop on the extra desk while Skye takes Coulson's. Coulson is gone for the day on a mission, much to Miles' relief, because he can never forgive the man for leaving him stranded in Hong Kong two years ago. And yes, Coulson definitely doesn't like him, but he was also adamant like Skye that SHIELD should lend a hand when Miles got himself - and he _got himself_ \- in trouble. Coulson hadn't hesitated a second, when the moment came to send a team to protect him.

Skye is ready for work as well, and she goes to the record player without thinking, without considering Miles' presence for a moment, just on autopilot. This is what she does, the nicest habit. She barely realizes what she is doing when she picks the record and puts it on the plate. She's too used to the gesture. One might say she can't work without it: she's too used to having Coulson's music in the background as she types the morning away. He might or might not be there, but that's almost inconsequential at this point. It's her peaceful ritual.

For Miles, however, this is something new about her. There are many new things about her – even though she can talk to him without disappointment or anger it feels like Miles is even further away than when he betrayed her. Or maybe she's the one further away.

At this point she knows the collection well enough that she can pick based on mood. She asks herself what's the adequate music to catch the person who hacked a hacker. Miles has always been notoriously invulnerable, so if someone caught him snooping around Hydra networks.

But Miles screws his face at the selection.

"I thought you hated jazz," he points out. "You used to say it was old dudes' music."

Skye shrugs, sitting down.

"Well, I've changed my mind," she says.

Miles makes a defeated noise.

"Yeah, I can see that."


	9. Chapter 9

**single bullet theory | single bullet theory | 1982**

It's been a while since they've sat in Lola like this. Though it has never been quite like this, at night, in the empty garage, listening to some music in silence. This is something quite new, not entirely comfortable. Maybe it doesn't have to be.

"So what do you think?" she asks.

"Mmm."

Coulson, ambiguously serene, seems to be considering the new panel with the new audio system more than the music itself, more than Skye's gesture.

"It took Mack and me a bit to figure this out so don't sneer at it," Skye tells him.

"Sneer?"

"Yeah, don't be snobbish and consider it a sacrilege to rip all your precious vinyl music to digital."

"I'm not snobbish," he says, turning his body towards her. "Is that the idea you have of me?"

She doesn't answer. Obviously she doesn't think he's a snob. He should know that by now. He's _cool_ , after all this time he's still, basically, very cool in her eyes. It's just fun to poke at that veneer of elegance he keeps.

They continue listening. Some surprisingly pop-ish stuff from when Coulson was young that he only keeps for sentimental reasons. It's not bad, but it's not his style. Skye can confidently claim to know his style by now. The biographical part, not so much. That Coulson keeps close to his chest. Skye rarely gets more than a "I bought this" or "somebody gave it to me", no specifics. She'd love to hear all about the specifics but can't exactly press.

It's in the pauses between songs when she realizes how isolated from the rest of the base they are right now, how resonant the silence in the big garage, like they are in a strange impenetrable bubble. It makes her more away of her body somehow – and Coulson's – but she's been hyperaware of her own body for some time now. She kind of has to. She doesn't like darkness, because it makes her more sensitive, like her skin has a mind of its own, and she's had enough of that. But then again she's never liked darkness.

"So this is what you've been doing with my records?" he asks, interrupting her thoughts.

"Well, yes. Do you like it?"

Coulson pauses.

"It must have taken you a long time."

She shakes her head slightly. She wouldn't want him to think it was a chore or anything. The problem is that you have to do it one at the time, and leave the whole thing on. But she didn't mind – sneaking out the records and the player to her room, setting up the whole thing, and having them play on as she got ready for bed. It was nice. Another ritual of sorts. She was almost sad when she finished.

And to be honest Skye had quite a blast working with Mack and learning how the technical part of doing this worked. It had felt good to work with someone on the team closely (she doesn't do much of that these days, not even with May) and Mack, with what he went through, seemed to have some kind of understanding about Skye and the distance she needed to keep – he turned out to be the perfect partner. She was sad when they finished, too.

"Mack got me an interface like the ones Djs use, so I got the best quality I could," she tells Coulson, proud of herself. "I think it sounds pretty good."

"Mack upgraded the sound system in Lola?" he asks.

"And then some. Complete with a very practical usb port. What? What's that face you're making right now?"

It's not the face she was expecting. This is meant to be some sort of gift. Something he would like. Instead Coulson just looks troubled.

"No, it's – I just thought when he fixed Lola he was going to leave everything as it was," he says. "I didn't think..."

He runs one hand across the steering wheel, looking with longing, as if there is something missing.

"I'm sorry. I wanted to do something nice..." Skye bites her lip for a moment, just before Coulson turns to face her. "Have I messed up?"

Coulson puts his hand on her arm for a moment. It's a warm, brief touch, because he knows Skye doesn't enjoy being touched too much, these days. Funnily enough, Skye finds herself wishing it could go on for longer, his fingers around her forearm. That's something new, too.

"Of course not," he says, giving her a strained but sweet smile. "It's a change for good. I just have to get used to it."

"You sure?"

He nods.

"Change is good," he repeats and something about the way he says it... she finds it almost touching.

They continue listening to record – crisper sound in its new incarnation but even Skye admits it's not exactly the same – and it feels like they are alone in the world again. But Skye doesn't mind the darkness so much. And this music, awkward and punkish and innocent in its own way, might be Coulson's style after all.


	10. Chapter 10

**tommy dorsey | i'm getting sentimental over you | 2000**

She doesn't quite know what just happened.

She knows he is alone now, in his office, by the window.

She doesn't understand why she didn't stay longer, or why he hasn't taken a break and gone away with her. That was what everybody expected to happen. That is how the story should go.

"So, you lost a record from your collection, uh?" she says, first trying for a light touch

"I guess I did."

She walks to him, but not too close. She considers the record that's playing right now. Skye would like to ask Coulson where he picked this kind of music up, if it has something to do with the era of Captain America, that complicated nostalgia, a glossy yet unattainable world like the one Coulson is fond of capturing in glass cases and limited editions. Skye has the feeling this kind of music is what people see of Coulson, the only thing they see. Flashy and stiff, old-fashioned and patronizing. Grandiose in its own way. Some sort of luxury. Ultimately detached, the decades between, the artificiality of the choice. It goes with the suit and the car. It's the impression they get of him, isn't it? This swing. Skye feels it's such a lie. A self-constructed one? Or an accident. Maybe he's trapped – he looks trapped, there in the most melancholic corner of the whole office – and finds the lie as ludicrous as Skye. Is this tune the only one Audrey knew? Skye hopes not. But then – why isn't she here? Why is he alone?

Coulson is not swing, he's not 1940s big band, Skye hates this.

Something underneath her skin is pulling at her, goading her to destroy the record, something Skye knows she can do with a simple thought, a moment of imposing her will upon the physical world. But she is learning to control it so she doesn't do that. There needs to be another way of comforting a friend.

"Are you okay?" she asks him.

"I made a bad joke," Coulson replies, not looking at her, in a flat tone.

"What?"

"This was playing," he says, finally turning towards Skye, gesturing to the player. "She knew it. _I'm getting sentimental over you_? She asked. I replied: _Sometimes_."

Skye finds herself grinning, not to Coulson but to herself. She thinks it's funny, even though she knows it isn't. 

"That's a bad line, sir," she tells him, unable to hide her fond smile.

"I was trying to be charming," he says, looking a bit bashful. He's not exactly the Director of SHIELD now, just a guy. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."

A part of Skye is glad that he feels comfortable enough to talk about what just happened, that Coulson considers they are close enough. Their relationship has never been one of intimate friendship or this kind of familiarity. Does Coulson have anyone to talk to about this stuff? She hopes he does. Maybe May, though Skye somehow can't picture the scene precisely. Maybe the sporadic drink with Hunter. Or maybe the kind of stuff that slips away in those days he spends in the garage with Mack, pampering Lola together. But somehow Skye doubts it. Coulson looks like the kind of man who just keeps this stuff locked inside. It's a depressing thought. She wants him to have that someone.

"Did she laugh?" she asks him.

He looks confused. The question is very important, though.

"What?"

"At your bad line," she explains. "Did she at least laugh?"

He stares at her, looking directly into her eyes. His gaze had been unfocused, like he was distracted, before, up until now. It's as if he has suddenly woken up from a dream and is a bit wrong-footed by her presence at the other side.

"She did," he says after a moment. "She laughed."

Skye's stomach drops in a way she doesn't recognize at all.

"Then... why did she leave?" she asks.

She's the one confused now.

Coulson looks outside the window again. A flash of something in his eyes.

"I wanted to show her this place," he says. "What I was doing. Why it was important."

"I'm sure she understood."

He gives Skye an unreadable smile.

"She did."

They don't say anything else. 

Skye doesn't have to ask if he wants her to leave, she knows he doesn't.


	11. Chapter 11

**eddie giles | i'm a losing boy | 1979**

"I don't think you know how much this one is worth on eBay," Skye comments.

"Really?"

Coulson walks around the desk and checks what she means, looking over her shoulder.

Skye stares at him out of the corner of her eye, while he takes the record sleeve in his hand to compare. She's been keeping an eye on him these past few days, since the whole dumpage or whatever it was that happened with Audrey. Coulson doesn't get broody, he doesn't do that. He overworks a bit and Skye tries not to invade his office as often as she usually does, getting the feeling he needs some space.

And the music stopped for a week of so.

Skye didn't blame him, and she doesn't mind the extra work. She normally welcomes the distraction. Keeps her from being too much in her own head, which might get dangerous.

The next time she heard music coming from Coulson's office it was a kind of blues-y tune, it was this rare record. She sat in her usual place and started working the day's exploits, no need to ask permission, no words between them. Coulson kept a bit distant, but upbeat.

"I mean, not a fortune, but we could throw a nice party with it," she tells him and she's not being exactly insidious but she is a bit. She's been thinking about it for a while, about the team, how they are doing their jobs professionally & flawlessly but are unable to come together since they lost Trip. Skye doesn't want so assume she could be in charge of the morale but she thinks something as small as ordering takeout for everybody and letting Hunter advice on the best available beer could go a long way. "And the record's in great condition."

"Of course, I take good care of my things," Coulson says and suddenly Skye has a flash of him as a child, never breaking a toy, and keeping a perfectly organized backpack. She smiles at the idea. "He never released an album. This one's from Japan."

"I bet there's a story there," she says, giving him an encouraging smile.

"Not a very good one."

He's as reserved as always. Doesn't share his stories. It makes Skye feels a peculiar longing but also, most of all, shame that she has dared to pry.

"I don't want to – it's none of my business."

"Skye, I don't mind you asking about this stuff," he tells her. "There's a reason why I said I wanted you to feel free to... use my collection."

She wants to know the reason, in case she has it all wrong.

She could ask, but she doesn't ask.

In case she has it all wrong.

His face is close to her, still studying the offer on the laptop screen. 

"You're not a loser, you know," she says, using the voice equivalent of a comforting pat on the back.

He pulls away.

"What?"

"The record. You're not like that."

Coulson narrows his eyes at her a bit. 

"That's not what the song is about," he tells her, a bit gently, a bit irritated. He is looking at her like – he looks just very _Coulson_ in that moment.

Skye looks away. "Whatever. Just. You're good."

Which is more than she was expecting to tell him. He's good, he's awesome, but maybe she doesn't say it as often as she should. Maybe no one does.

Slightly embarrassed she goes back to her usual tasks, avoiding a gaze she can feel on her face even when she turns around.

"Maybe I should sell the record," Coulson says, finally. She can tell by his voice he understands what he is talking about, why she brought it up.

She turns in her chair. He's placing the sleeve right next to the player. Maybe he's more careful now that he knows it's of some value. Skye is not jealous and she doesn't mean to sound self-pitying but she wonders what it's like to have valuable possessions. She knows Coulson sold most of his collectibles to fund this new, humbler version of SHIELD, but at least he had them for a while. Skye wonders what it's like to have something as simple as a family heirloom. Well, she guesses she is in possession of one those now, but not the kind you can sell on eBay.

"You mean it?" she asks, arching an eyebrow to make sure he knows what he is offering here, what she's offering.

"If you don't mind taking care of the details," he says. "I think a party might do some good We've all been working too hard lately."

You more than anyone, she wants to point out.

"Everyone will love the idea," she says. Like the idea wasn't even hers, but he knows what she means.

"Thank you," he says. It's rather charged.

"What for?"

He doesn't reply.


	12. Chapter 12

**janis joplin | pearl + i got dem ol' kozmic blues again mama! | 1988**

Simmons and Hunter are the last ones in the common room, obviously inebriated and sharing their love for such a state. The scene has an air of decadence, with Simmons leaning against him while she tells him something in which, from this distance, Skye can only imagine is an _educative tone_. Hunter seems enthralled by whatever she is telling him, lifting the bottle of beer right to his lips continuously, yet putting it back down to pay more attention, totally absorbed. They are super drunk.

She doesn't mean to mock them but it's about the only advantage of staying sober at a party.

And she promised to stay behind to help clean up when everybody went home, since she had organized the whole thing she figured it was only fair.

It's not that Skye did that much of the whole drinking thing in the past. Not often. And now less than ever. She has trouble enough keeping control over her body, she doesn't need artificial ways of making her job even harder. But it's not fun being the designated driver among SHIELD agents who really know how to wind up. Well, there's Coulson, who nursed one single beer for about two hours, and so elegantly, like it was a fashion accessory complementing his rolled-up sleeves and the way he hid his smile behind the neck of the bottle as he chatted with his subordinates.

In the end they ended up looking like a couple of chaperones watching over a bunch of excitable children.

She didn't say why she wasn't drinking, but Coulson can probably tell, and it would be like him to join her in some self-inflicted sobreity, just so she wouldn't feel left out.

Coulson was the one who thought about bringing some music downstairs. His white boy's fondness for the Stones and Lou Reed had come in handy, unifying tastes across the improvised party scene. His extensive Motown collection was a success too.

Now, at the end of the night, with the tables cluttered by leftovers and the bittersweet air of the end of a really good time Coulson has decided to play something less upbeat, something more melancholic and his style, now that (almost) everyone is gone. And the ones who stay don't really care and Skye is happy with whatever it makes him happy to listen to right now.

The melody is good. She likes this one. And he doesn't have much rock anyway, it's a nice change.

Skye sits by his side on the couch. He looks exhausted but satisfied, eyes a bit red and loose tie. Not a bad look, she thinks in passing. It's nice seeing him enjoy himself like that.

"You've turned out to be an excellent DJ," she compliments.

He wiggles his eyebrows, proudly, a clear _did you expect anything else?_ gesture. No, she didn't. Between the two of them they managed to keep the party secret, reorganize schedules so that everybody would have the day off – sudden international disasters pending, and for once Hydra seemed to respect their leisure plans – and usher everybody into the common area at the same time, to be greeted by ludicrous amount of every kind of takeout imaginable. And a lot of alcohol, of course.

Skye had wanted something simple but fun, a Friday night between friends more than any solemn occassion or team-building exercise. She had even offered the Geek Squad a beer herself, thanking them for all their support this year, nicknames aside.

It had gone just as she had hoped. It was nice seeing people wind down. Billy and May sharing their love for spicy food, Mack and Bobbi challenging each other to dance (there wasn't dancing in the plans, Skye thought, wondering if they had clearned enough space in the room for that) then both chickening out, Fitz and Simmons recycling the same Academy anecdotes over and over and yet making everybody laugh with them. 

It has been a good evening.

Skye is sad to see it end.

But she is finally worn out, with happiness and more complicated emotions, and with organizing everything. She is glad to be just be sitting down at the end of it, idle on the comfortable leather couch, Simmons and Hunter's conversation audible but indecipherable and drown out by Janis Joplin's sad voice. She closes her eyes for a moment, in which she forgets Coulson is sitting right next to her.

She is still holding on to the little paper that came with her fortune cookie. She had eaten from the Mexican corner of the feast but Mack had thrown one of these to each member of the team.

Coulson points at it. "Any luck?"

" _Our deeds determine us, as much as we determine our deeds_ ," Skye reads.

"Fits you," Coulson says cryptically.

Skye shrugs.

"What did yours say?" she asks.

He fishes his from the pockets of his pants.

" _Enjoyed the meal? Buy one to go too_ ," Coulson replies. "I feel there's a secret meaning here."

She snorts back a laugh.

There's a beat. Coulson seems to be contemplating the scene in front of him. No, not his subordinates drinking each other under the table, the whole scene.

"I think we can officially put you in charge of morale from now on," he says.

"Oh, no, this was just... you know."

But she admits she is proud. She admits she likes playing mother hen to the team. And she likes increments in her responsibility. She feels safer, more in control, when she has things to do. Real things that affect the team.

"I do not want to think about cleaning up, though."

"I'll stay behind and help you," Coulson tells her.

"That's nice but...Honestly? I don't think the Mighty Director of SHIELD is allowed to pick up a broom. Must be like a rule in the manual or something."

"Maybe I can relinquish that title for just one night," he offers.

Skye thinks she'd like that, but she says nothing.

They both sigh at the same time, tired out.

Over the music there's the soft clink of Simmons and Hunter toasting with one last beer each.

"Trip would have loved this," Coulson says, voice both sad and cheerful, touching her arm for a moment.

"Yeah..."

Tonight was nice but it can never be perfect, not now. She'll have to live with nice, she guesses.

Coulson drops his hand and grabs her wrist gently, wrapping his hot fingers around it.

"Thank you," he says.

This time she doesn't have to ask what for. She knows.


	13. Chapter 13

**blossom dearie | blossoms on broadway | 1979**

She sits on the floor, the sharp shards of vinyl heavy in her palms. Heavier than they look.

"I'm _so_ sorry," she says.

Coulson kneels besides her.

"It's okay, it's just a record," he says.

He uses that sweet tone he has sometimes, when she needs to calm down. It the tone of voice that normally wakes her up from a nightmare. She clings to it now, but nothing happens. She feels heartbroken, holding the pieces of one of his precious records, and she feels the relief too, because this wasn't something more serious.

"I was just putting it back on the sleeve."

"It doesn't matter."

It does matter. And sometimes she really hates when Coulson gets into caring & comforting mode with her, like there was nothing wrong with her. But she holds it in her hands, proof that no matter how hard she tries to ignore it, she's just a freak.

It had been really stupid, how it happened, and Skye is not sure she can explain it, not even to him. Something about the frailty of vinyl. Something about the frailty of her team, broken bones and ill-advised decisions that will haunt her for a while. And she was more tired than she wanted to admit and – 

She just slipped.

It was only a fleeting thought in her mind, how easily things can break and the next thing she knew she was on the floor holding on to the remnants of the broken record.

(Back when she had discovered not just the extent of her powers but the _precision_ it had been terrifying)

Coulson reaches for her.

"No," she practically shouts. "Don't – it's just. Not sure I'm safe."

She hears him breathe heavily, obviously opposed to the idea, but he takes his hand away from her.

"What happened?" he asks.

Complacency, she thinks. 

She's been sleeping better – she's been sleeping _good_. She's been good, she's been happy. She shouldn't have forgotten. It wasn't supposed to be a combat op (god, she sounds _like Coulson_ ) or she wouldn't have designed it that way, she wouldn't have taken untrained untried tech agents with her. And she had kept calm through it all, had saved her team's lives, most propably. She hadn't lost it on the field. So why now? Why take it out on an innocent old record? And one of the good ones, too, one that Skye liked, all romantic in a way that makes you want to kiss people under the rain but there's a reason Skye doesn't have that kind of fantasies, and there's a reason why there are only pieces of it in her hands now.

Coulson is looking at her, still crouched by her side, like she has answers. But she doesn't, she really doesn't.

She doesn't want to go back to the cell. Once was enough. She forces herself to calm down (Coulson's worried gaze on her frame doesn't help and then it does), remembering her exercises.

"I thought – I've been doing fine, I haven't slipped in months," she says, a bit defensively.

"It's okay. Skye, it's okay. You were angry about the mission?"

"I was _worried_. I was distracted. I'm so sorry."

This time he doesn't say anything. She likes that about him, he doesn't push comfort where it's not wanted. Skye likes a lot of things about him, she is finding out – and it's excruciating, and it's the worst possible time. 

The record, though, she remembers. 

"I'll buy you another one," she tells Coulson. "Tell me it didn't have sentimental value, please."

"That doesn't matter."

Now she is the one touching him, almost without realizing, feeling her fingers almost too small when she twists them into the shoulder of his jacket.

This is better, actually. She regrets not letting him touch her before. She feels more in control. There's no way in hell she'll ever hurt Coulson so touching him, him touching her, is almost a safety measure, she knows she can't slip. Perhaps she should take him with her on missions.

He lets her do that for a moment, gather herself. When he speaks to her again his voice is clear, no false comfort or platitudes.

"I know you're tired. And I know you didn't ask for this," he tells her. She nods, grateful. Not everybody gets that. Raina had called it a gift. Her father a birthright. Skye can't help but feeling it's more like a curse, at the end of the day. Coulson leans closer to her, so that her hand flattens against his body. "But you have to understand: I'm not scared of you. You've got this."

He risks touching her now, and she knows he's making a point. He brushes his fingers along the curve of her shoulder, until the t-shirt suddenly stops and he's touching skin. Just for a second.

"Yeah, I've got this," Skye says, encouraged or hiding, she doesn't know. "Sorry, I'm an idiot."

He doesn't reply. He'll let her be an idiot if she wants to, apparently. He pulls back a bit, leaving her space now that she seems to have gotten a hold of herself.

Skye doesn't say it nearly as often as she should but... these past months of suckiness? A lot less sucky thanks to Coulson.

And he's not scared of her. That has to mean something.

"Better?" he asks.

She checks her heart rate. The science of it all can be comforting sometimes.

"Better."

She gives him a tiny smile. She feels a little silly about the whole thing. She feels bad for being so freaking dramatic about this. She leaves a really sharp piece of vinyl on the floor, amazed she could be holding on to it all this time without cutting herself.

"Careful," Coulson says.

"Yeah."

She grabs the edge of the desk and stands up, propping herself against Coulson's body. He doesn't help her up or anything, but he offers the support she needs. 

They both look down at the broken mess on the floor.

"I'm really sorry."

He smiles. "I know it's against the rules but I think I should get a broom."

"I'll help, I'll go with you."

Which is silly, because Coulson is capable of finding the janitor's closet and bring back the broom all by himself. What Skye really means is: this is another instance in which I don't want to be alone. He lets her follow him outside, and the simple walk down the base's hallway is refreshing.

They actually do that, clean up. She has the feeling they do that a lot these days, even if it's only been twice. Still. Kind of a weird thing for the Director of SHIELD and his agent.

"You're going to have to replace the record," Coulson says, once he's sure Skye has cheered up a bit.

"Did it have sentimental value then?"

"No," he replies. "But I still want to have a copy."

Okay, boss, she thinks, rolling her eyes.

But right now the idea of scouring the web to find another copy for him doesn't sound so bad. She looks forward to doing that, for him. Not breaking his stuff, helping replace it.


	14. Chapter 14

**glenn miller & his orchestra | miller magic | 1982**

"How did you pick this up?" she asks. "You're not two hundred years old."

She's teasing him and Coulson is taking it in stride.

The classics do have their charm, Skye admits. Even big bands.

"That's from when I took dancing classes at the Academy. Our instructor was always putting this stuff on. Got a taste for it," Coulson tells her, strangely forthcoming about the personal details.

"Dancing classes? Maybe I shouldn't have so many regrets about not having gone to the Academy," she replies. But. Well, she does regret not having gone to the Academy, be part of that – a bit less so since she discovered half the teaching staff was Hydra and poisoning young minds. That sort of put her own sense of failure into perspective.

"I loved them," Coulson says.

She widens her eyes in mockery. "That's the least surprising thing in history."

He crosses his arms.

"Really? Do I look like someone who loves dancing?"

" _So_ much."

He chuckles. It's unexpected, but he's a bit more relaxed these days. They all are, she guesses. It makes her a bit fearful, because that's normally when things start going wrong for her.

"Okay then," he says, looking at her in the eye.

"Okay then what?"

"Wanna learn?"

"To dance? I know how to dance."

"To dance like a SHIELD agent," he corrects. "I think your training is lacking in that department, unless May is not telling me everything."

Now Skye widens her eyes at him very much honestly. 

He just offers his hand, all gentleman-like and absolutely shocking.

Are they playing dance chicken? Because Skye has no intention of losing that game.

"You're the boss," she says, shrugging and taking his hand.

"Wait," he says.

Skye knew he wouldn't follow through.

No, he's just moving the chairs so they'll have more space. O-kay.

He comes back and takes Skye's hand again, more firmly. He puts his arm around Skye's waist with alarming confidence. Not really familiarity just – he seems unfazed by the whole thing, like they do this every afternoon.

"This is really happening, uh?"

"A SHIELD agent should know how to dance," he says, shaking his head a bit, like he knows that sounds a lot like a line.

"That sounds like an excuse. If you want to dance with me, Director, you just have to say it."

Coulson ignores that comment.

"To make up for the fact that you never went to the Academy," he says. "I wouldn't want you to have any regrets."

There's something genuine in the way he says that last bit, no longer teasing. Skye makes a surprised sound.

They both go silent for a moment and there's only Glen Miller and some slightly awkward swaying to him. Not as awakward as it could be – she and Coulson, they are not people who usually get this close, physically, but lately they've been more familiar. There have a been a lot of latelys lately, she notices.

"So. These very important spying techniques?" she reminds him.

Coulson looks a bit distracted for a moment. Maybe he just wanted to dance with her.

"The main thing is to get a good look at your surroundings, make sure the dancing covers 360º," he tells her. Skye twists her neck, pretending it's a mission. " _Subtly_."

She huffs, annoyed.

She does it again. 

"Good," he says. It's kind of weird to have Coulson teach her some SHIELD tricks – he's never done that – and praise her like he is her SO or something.

"Can you do the twirling thing?" she asks.

"Can I twirl you? That doesn't have much practical value on the field."

"But it's fun."

He does it and Skye finds it easy to follow, letting him turn her with one hand. She might not know about elegant SHIELD dance techniques, but she's done some dancing in her younger days. When he pulls her towards him again he stops the movement with one open-palmed hand on Skye's hip, very surely. His hand is warm and the whole thing feels nice; doing something silly and almost normal like dancing, even under the pretense – because it's just that, isn't it – of learning some spy stuff. Skye hasn't had the chance to indulge in something nice and silly and normal in a long time.

Skye raises an eyebrow at the worldliness of Coulson's moves. Did he really learn this for the job? It doesn't feel exactly professional in his arms right now. They are dancing pretty slowly, pretty close. She rests her chin on his shoulder for a moment. When was the last time she danced? She danced with Miles, she's pretty sure she did, in a different life – sweaty bars in Friday nights, she wore flannel shirts and danced with the hottest guy in the place. She thought her life was complicated then. She smiles secretly at that girl, touching her lips to the hard fabric of Coulson's suit. He should have taken off his jacket to do this.

"So you practiced this with the ladies at the Academy?" 

"Or the guys," Coulson replies. "I wasn't picky, it was a class."

"Nice. And did you always have to lead?" she asks slyly.

His hand slips up her back so his grip holds her closer to him.

"Not necessarily. Sometimes it's – appropriate to let your partner lead. So they'll find their own rhythm. Sometimes I like to follow."

He gives her an unreadable look, much like the ambiguity of Skye's own question, which she asked without really understanding what she meant by it. She's satisfied with the answer, for some reason.

"Then there is this move, it helps get a sense of the space from a different angle, it comes in handy sometimes."

He dips her, actually does the thing, boldly, and Skye is really, really not expecting that, it's the kind of thing people only do in the movies. The world goes shaky for a moment but Coulson has her. His surprisingly confident grip.

"Arms," she mutters, looking at him almost upside down.

"What?"

"You have strong arms," she says. "I'm not light."

He chuckles again, but doesn't contradict her. Well, she is not light. She has gained a lot of muscle in the past year and it shows. It seems like he can handle it, though.

When he pulls her back up on her feet one of them miscalculates and Skye ends up bumping her nose against his jaw.

"Sorry."

"No, it was me."

"No I'm pretty sure it was me."

They are very decided to not let awkwardness be the boss of them, so it seems.

Then the song stops and awkwardness definitely wins out. Coulson lets her out of his embrace slowly, slipping his hand down her back again,brushing his palm across her hip. That's really nice, she thinks about the gesture, or maybe she is really in some desperate need of human contact, and who's better for that than Coulson?

"Nice... er, lesson. If we reopen the Academy again maybe you can take a post."

His slow smile is full of humor. He's so wound up normally that sometimes she forgets Coulson is pretty fun when relaxed.

"You're retiring me as Director so soon," he complains.

"Not at all. It's just that it's a shame that those great moves go to waste. Not much chance for dancing these days."

"No, I guess not."

"Pity," Skye says.

"Yes, it is."


	15. Chapter 15

**suzi quatro | your mamma won't like me | 1975**

Skye has never liked birthdays.

This is not surprising. For obvious and not obvious reasons she tends to try to not make a fuss.

Birthdays at the orphanage were awful – if another kid had their birthday even like the same month the nuns threw joint parties to spare costs, it was really depressing ever for a child who had nothing. And the ice cakes, she remembers those with particular terror. Birthdays at foster homes weren't that much better, though different. They were too stressful – Skye always tried enjoying them a little too much, there was always this feeling that she only got one chance at it and next year it'd be back to the ice cakes and sharing the party with three other girls. She used to believe that there wasn't such a thing as a good birthday, and nothing in her life arfterwards convinced her otherwise.

And there was always the question of what a birthday even meant to her, since she couldn't be totally sure what date she was born on. She still doesn't know. She could ask her father, he'd be glad to fill in the gaps, and he'll probably try to make contact today. Skye doesn't want to think about her father – about the tenuous connection she still has with him, which only a few people in the team know about, of her own curiosity, despite how guilty she feels every time she talks to him – today, but it's kind of inevitable that her mind goes there. Which is another reason why she doesn't like birthdays. They always reminded her of the family she never had.

No one ever stuck around long enough to notice she doesn't celebrate them. Her ex-boyfriend did, and Skye felt she had to try to be cheerful for him; Miles had meant well – said he was trying to make up for all the birthdays in her past, it was sweet, but Skye always had the feeling he did it for himself too, in some small part, because the idea of a girlfriend who didn't celebrate such a date was too depressing for him and he felt he had to fix it. Every time Skye tried it his way it just left her frustrated, and having to pretend.

When the next birthday comes around she pretends to forget it, concentrate on the work. She pretends she doesn't even know what day it is, in case someone asks. And for some strange reason she's been thinking about Trip all day. She never celebrated a birthday with him and still, she keeps telling herself " _first birthday without him_ ".

She does pretty good, keeping the whole thing under wraps, and no one seems to suspect a thing. Her file is, after all, one of the best kept secrets of SHIELD, and she has no intention of telling anyone. 

A couple of times during morning training May looked like she was going to say something but Skye felled those intentions with a couple of annoyed faces and May let her be. May always lets her be, it's the great thing about May.

The great thing about Coulson is that he doesn't.

She shouldn't have imagined she could escape him.

"What's this?" she asks hastily when she comes into his office and sees the giftwrapped object staring at her like an accusation from the director's desk.

"What does it look like?" Coulson asks, failing at sounding casual.

"Like a birthday present." He shrugs. "You know I don't like birthday presents."

"Then don't think of it as one. Think of it as just a present."

God, he's trying to be cute. She's not sure she can deal with that. She was planning on moping quietly all day and then go to bed early. A gift is very inconvenient.

"Coulson."

"I'd like you to have it."

That's close to emotional blackmail, that's what it is. Skye frowns at him. His expression changes in a second, worried he might have done something wrong.

"You don't have to–"

They both reach for the gift at the same time, but Skye is quicker. She walks around the desk, carrying it, away from his graps.

"No, no, now I want to know what it is."

Because seriously, Coulson buying her a gift? It's at least intriguing. She wants to know what it is. Well, more or less _what_ it is becomes pretty evident when she holds it in her hands, big and thin and square. But she wants to know what kind of record Coulson thinks he should give her.

He follows, walking behind her, eager to study her reactions. Skye forgets about her anxiety regarding birthdays for a moment – Coulson looks _excited_ about this.

Then she starts thinking about stupid, small stuff like the wrapping paper. She looks at it, mesmerized. Was there giftwrapping paper lying around the Playground or did Coulson have to buy it? She can imagine him telling Billy to buy some, what a strange conversation that must have been. Whoever chose it, it's nice, red with little yellow dots like stars, she likes it. And did Coulson wrapped it with his own hands?

"Skye. Are you okay?" he asks, resting one light hand on her shoulder. She must look a million miles away. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"No, no."

She starts ripping the paper before she embarrasses him any further.

Suzi Quatro. The name is vaguely familiar but she has never heard the music. Looks 70s-80s, punk-ish. If she didn't know his whole collection by heart Skye would say it's one of his. The thought is not unwelcome. Maybe he thinks they share an affinity for the same stuff.

"I think it will be to your taste," Coulson comments, breaking the silence.

" _Your mamma won't like me_ ," Skye reads the title. "She looks badass."

"She sounds badass," he says, lame.

The word _badass_ on Coulson's lips sounds kind of wrong – and kind of not. Skye wants to laugh at it, but she's afraid of the knot in her throat, of her heartbeat, of choking. If she looks at the record much longer... It's second hand and beautiful. It's unlike anything anyone has ever given her before.

"Can I leave it with yours?" she asks, suddenly fearful Coulson might think asking that is some kind of unforgivable violation.

"That was the idea," he tells her.

Skye turns to him suddenly. 

"Yeah? It's not a very unsubtle way of telling me to get my own collection and stop messing with yours?"

His lips curl into a smile, but he doesn't finish the gesture, there's something sad in there, and he's looking at her a bit too intently. "Not at all. You know you are always welcome to my records. But I wanted you to have some that were all yours. A least one."

Skye stares at his words, hardly believing them. She has no idea how she is going to thank him or why this means so much to her.

Perhaps this is what birthdays are supposed to be like, feel like. With someone who cares enough for a gesture.

And it's a big thing, in a way. Not just the record, the fact that her record will be among his. Like moving in together. Except they are not a couple or anything, but a similar idea.

"Thanks, AC."

Coulson narrows his eyes at her.

"I think that nickname no longer applies."

"Oh yes it does," she says, surprising him with a kiss on the cheek.

It's a good birthday.


	16. Chapter 16

**billie holiday | please don't talk about me when i'm gone | 1999**

To Coulson's credit he doesn't seem that alarmed to find one of his agents casually lying on the floor of his office, the music on, one arm sadly drawn over her forehead.

"What are you doing?" he asks, mostly confused by the picture.

Plus hey, it has to be said; Coulson has accepted her taking over his office like this with admirable humor. She's sure she spends here more time than anywhere else and she has yet to hear a complaint or even get the feeling that Coulson might find her presence disturbing.

"Nothing," she says, sullen, and it's shrugging is not that effective when you're lying on the floor. "Feeling sorry for myself. Hating your records."

"I thought you were –" he gestures towards her laptop, still on his desk.

"I finished those personnel assement files you asked for hours ago," Skye tells him. "By the way, you should give me a rise."

"I don't pay you," he points out.

"A five dollar rise then."

He sits on the floor by her side, cross-legged, pretty flexible if you ask her. Skye is lying on her back so she can't really see his face when he speaks, just his back and his very expressive neck.

"Why are you hating my records?" he asks softly.

Hate is a strong word. This music is making her feel... _alienated_ at the moment.

"All this _romantic_ music... It's weird to listen to this," she says.

"Why?"

She sits up so they can be on the same level. This is pathetic, she knows, she should be saying this stuff to Simmons or Hunter, not Coulson. She doesn't feel like telling anyone else.

"Because I'm done with that," she says, trying not to sound too melodramatic. She doesn't feel it, the drama, it's just something that happened. She's left all that behind. "Romance. It just didn't work out for me."

"Skye, you're twenty-six," he tells her, probably the only patronizing thing he's ever said to her. But he also sounds terribly amused, so it's not that annoying.

"What does that have to do with anything?" she asks. Coulson gives her a _fair enough_ shrug. "And it's not like my track record is precisely normal. The last guy who wanted to date me was a Nazi and murderer so, there's that. I don't feeling like trying again after that."

She doesn't think it's her fault, that she attracted the wrong people, or that the universe was trying to tell her something (it would be way too unsubtle of the universe) but she feels juttified in letting that whole thing put her off romance altogether. How does one come back from that?

"Skye."

"I don't want to wallow on self-pity, that's the last thing –"

Coulson doesn't let het finish, touching her arm to get her attention.

"Skye?"

"What?"

"That wasn't the last guy who wanted to date you."

It takes her a moment to understand what that means. By then Coulson is already kissing her.

Oh, okay, a lot of things starts making sense just now. The whole deal with his records. She was being very obvious, wasn't she. Maybe he was, too.

Skye didn't think about him this way before – or she didn't know she could – but now it makes perfect sense like something she's been wanting to do for a long time. She wants to ask him so many things, about this, about how long he's felt like this, about exactly what it is that he's feeling, but she also wants to keep kissing him, and for the time being this last impulse wins out.

All this silly giving-up romance and sex had made her forget how awesome it was, kissing someone. If you do it right, if it's someone nice. Coulson is nice, and the way he kisses her is definitely the right one. And it only takes Skye a split of a second to start kissing him back.

The hand on her arm now is wrapped around her elbow while he uses his other hand to grab Skye's face, pulling her closer. She rests her own hands on his shoulders, trying to get better access. Coulson throws his head back a bit, offering his open mouth. Skye sucks at his tongue and he lets out a nice noise of complete approval of her action; Skye smiles against his lips and he grabs her waist to prop her up. 

It's uncomfortable and messy and they don't think about stopping at all. They're on the floor of Coulson's office, she's pretty sure the door is not locked, and they don't seem to care.

Everything precipitates when she feels Coulson's hand slip under her t-shirt and she remembers this kind of urgency. How could she have forgotten, what it feels like, to desire something and someone this much. She tugs at his jacket frustrated and joyful and Coulson groans, like he can't be bothered to stop kissing her to actually help with the undressing process. In the end he does, Skye rewarding him by running her hands all over his arms appreciatively – there hasn't been a hint of modesty or lack of confidence on his part but still, she thinks it's nice to tell him she wants him.

She pulls her t-shirt over her head, careless about being exposed, in her bra and scars under Coulson's dark glance.

He stares at her body and says her name like _Skye_ is the only adjective he can come up with for what he sees and feels and Skye hasn't felt this beautiful in a long, long time.

She draws closer to him, one knee between his legs, half-sitting on his thigh and feeling his arousal against her. She knows what's coming next, lets the excitement pull her like a wave. Both of them impatient teeth meet and they smile for a moment, until Coulson caresses her breast over the fabric of her bra and Skye moans and bites for real, his fingers skimming over her ribcage.

Skye draws a life-preserving breath and suddenly one of the many reasons why romantic songs are not for her anymore comes back and knocks the new air out of her lungs. Coulson drops his hand from her stomach when he sees her face. He gives her a questioning but self-accusatory look. It's not his fault.

"This is a bit sudden," Skye says and immediately realizes it's the wrong thing to say, the wrong way to explain it.

"We can stop," he tells her. His hand comes to rest on her knee, almost innocently, but Skye doesn't want him to touch her innocently ever again. The idea of turning back the clock feels unbearable. Now she knows, she can't unknown this. She wants to move forward.

"I don't want to stop. I very much want to _not stop_ ," she says and Coulson gives her a sheepish smile. "But I wasn't expecting... this. And I don't know if – _my powers_ , I mean."

He nods, realizing her fears.

"It's okay. You are in control."

"It's not that I haven't tried, I've done – stuff, to know if... but..." Skye doesn't know how to put it without dying of embarrasment. "I was _alone_."

Coulson grabs her face and kisses her, quite deeply and passionately all of the sudden.

"Sorry," he says afterwards, looking at her mouth and her shoulders, and her hands, his voice strangely low and growly, Skye had never heard it before. "I got caught up. Because you were talking about..."

"What–? Ah, okay, I get it."

He smirks – she files the information away. She must be out of practice with guys, that's for sure. Coulson draws his hand over her back for encouragement. She finds it distracting, this electricity between them. She can taste it on her tongue.

"You don't have to be afraid," Coulson tells her. "I've been watching you all these months, how hard you've worked – you've got this."

"Thanks. But I'm not sure I can trust your judgement here," she teases, drawing shapes on his chest. "You're an interested party."

She rests her hand over his belt, kneading into his hard-on humorously.

He's not amused. She watches him close his eyes for a moment.

"Oh, god, _Skye_."

She's amazed at being able to extract that voice from him, and suddenly she's no longer afraid of losing control. 

"Come here," he says, touching her arm.

"Yeah."

She does.


	17. Chapter 17

**carla thomas | comfort me | 1966**

She can hear the music before coming in, through the glass of the office.

She's excited to see him again – the morning has passed in a daze and Skye had to use all her powers of concentration to hold on at her post until she had a free moment to come up and see him. They had decided to end the night in their own separate quarters last night, but they parted on a good note; Coulson had even walked her to her room – he walked her to her room! She smiles to herself remembering it, then she remembers what came before, fucking on the office floor, Coulson's _hands_ , the way she had felt throughout it all – satisfied, safe, cherised.

Honestly? Skye is not used to being excited about morning-afters.

It hits her again, standing outside his office like this, all those feelings from last night, amazement mostly, and arousal and yes – love. She bites her lower lip, wondering if it's okay to ask Coulson when can she see him again.

She knocks on the door softly and then walks in. Coulson is at his desk, working, barely makes a gesture acknowledging her presence. She looks at him, all professional and composed and _Coulson_ and it's hard to imagine this is the guy who went down on her in this very same office mere hours ago. She closes the door behind her. Not that she's planning on doing anything that requires closed doors, she swears. But... just in case.

Skye notices the music he has on. She recognizes the song. It's pretty famous even for a novice like her – it's just a more obscure version of _Will you still love me tomorrow_. She knows what the song is about.

She smiles at the irony of the choice.

"Is this some sort of unsubtle hint?" she teases him, pointing at the player. "Because you know I'll _always_ respect you in the morning."

She admits to being a bit nervous, being alone with him again.

He looks up from his work a moment.

He doesn't reply.

Coulson doesn't look like he is in the mood for joking. Skye came in thinking she could just walk up to him and kiss him, fool around a bit while no one outside these walls suspected a thing, that was her vague but really awesome plan. This was supposed to be a joyful morning after a great, great night.

"Okay. What's the matter?" she asks, tilting her head.

He pretends he's concentrating on the file in front of him but he scratches his chest distractedly, a tell if Skye ever saw one.

"Nothing's the matter," he replies without looking up.

"And they say Simmons' a bad liar. You should see your face."

He lets out a sigh before looking at her. Skye notices how well-dressed he looks today. _Too much_. And the perfectly combed hair. Something is wrong with this picture.

"You're totally freaking out on me, aren't you?"

"I'm not," he says and god, this one is even worse than his previous lie. "I'm just... considering the ramifications."

"That just sounds like fancy words for a freakout."

He looks at her in a way – okay, Skye was messing with him before but this has stopped being funny.

She knows what he's doing. She has done it enough times herself.

"I think we should press pause," he says.

"What?"

She doesn't want to press pause. She wants the opposite of that. She wants to press fast forward to the next bit where he is not this robot version of the guy she now realizes she's fallen in love with. Can they do that instead? Can they skip this and go back to kissing and undressing each other? She'd like that.

Skye is not used to being on this side of this argument. She's normally the one running away. With Coulson she wants to stop doing that.

"There are consequences for our actions," Coulson says.

He's using that tone he has sometimes, like he's talking to himself more than anything, he is trying to convince himself of something. He is trying to talk himself out of this, out of wanting this, Wanting her. It's almost sad.

Skye crosses her arms, appalled that he is the one being a coward.

Coulson is doing like the really fast version of this sort of fallout.

"This is getting to a not-so-great place really fast," she tells him. "So why don't we press pause _on that_?"

"Think about how hard we've tried to build this – this new SHIELD, how hard we've worked to do things the right way," he adds. "Anything that might jeopardize that has to be examined, very carefully."

"Jeopardize?" she repeats. She's stunned at the choice. Who is this person? He sure as hell isn't Phil Coulson. "I'm not going to ruin SHIELD."

"I know that."

"Do you? Your face doesn't."

To his credit he actually looks pained that there was ever that implication.

"Skye," he says softly, fucking reasonably.

"Don't _Skye_ me."

She knows that voice, he can normally get anything out of her with that voice.

She waits for him to say something else, but he doesn't.


	18. Chapter 18

**barbara mason | come to me/girls have feelings too | 1964**

"I want you to play this one," he tells her, pushing the record into her hands.

Skye shrugs, not wanting to show sympathy. It's the afternoon. It's still a few hours since – whatever happened between them, a few hours since it was last night. But it feels like a long time ago. Their awful conversation this morning has made the night seem so far. Skye doesn't really want to look at him. She takes the record without meeting his eyes.

"It's the oldest one in my collection," he says.

"I noticed."

She puts it on the plate.

"It's not mine," Coulson tells her.

"Oh?"

She's curious despite her bad mood. She's always curious when it comes to him.

"My mother's."

Skye draws a short breath, not sure what to do with the revelation. Coulson never talks about his family. His file mentioned his father, there was nothing on his mother. She looks at the record differently now. She has seen it before, never realizing it was something precious. He never said.

"It's seven inches," she comments.

Coulson steps back, giving her space.

He leans on his desk, crossing his arms.

"She said this was on the radio all the time when I was a baby. She had me quite young, she was still a girl. Had quite a _girlish_ musical taste. Her words not mine."

His voice is unbearably intimate.

"Coulson..."

"I want you to know everything," he says, not a hint of doubt in his voice. "I know I'm – private. But I mean it."

He's looking at her like he did last night. He's making her feel loved again.

"Why did you do that? This morning?"

He comes closer to her again. He does this nervous thing where one hand curls inside the other. Skye doesn't know how many people has noticed about that.

"I wish there was a more elegant explanation but the truth is – I got scared."

"I don't want to scare you," she says. Out of all the people she knows she thought Coulson was the only one who could never be scared of her.

He gives her a sad smile.

"It wasn't you who scared me, Skye. It was me. I'm not... and you mean... to me you are... See what I mean? I couldn't and I still can't – say what I want."

She can see that.

It's nice to see that she can affect him that much. That she can mess with the cool and put-together Director of SHIELD. If he had explained it like that in the first place. If he hadn't been so eager to hide how he really felt. Was that pride? Once upon a time he promised he'd be completely honest with her. It's a rule between them.

Or did he imagine she wasn't scared shitless? She is the way she is and he's... Coulson. Of course she is terrified. If he hadn't blown the whole thing she'd probably be able to have her own meltdown right about this moment. And he should be reassuring her. They have wasted half a day already. Half a day they could have spent kissing and sneaking around. They have wasted a lot more than that.

"You freaked out on me," she says, sad rather than disappointed. "You're not supposed to do that. I'm the one who normally freaks out."

"I know," he agrees. "I should have known better. I'm sorry."

"You're not supposed to make me feel like..."

"Everybody else has made you feel?" he offers.

"Yes."

At least he realizes. No one else has realized before. That has to mean something.

He gestures towards the record player.

"I lost my mother's record collection years ago. This is the only one of hers I still have," he says. "I know I'm not very forthcoming about the things that matter most to me. And I'm afraid that includes _you_. But I don't want to be like that anymore."

Skye nods.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. "I understand if you don't want to c–"

She shakes her head.

"No," she tells him. "No more excuses. No more running away."

"No."

"You want this, right?"

"Yes."

She touches his arm.

"Come here."

He does.


	19. Chapter 19

**the new york dolls | the new york dolls | 1973**

**chet baker | it could happen to you | 1987 re-release**

She's glad they decided to move the player to his room.

They don't have much free time and listening to music has to be combined with other – ehem – activities, if you know what she means.

"Don't you have something sexy?" she asks.

Coulson looks up from where he's comfortably resting his head on her shoulder.

" _Something sexy_."

"Make-out music. What's your makeout song?"

"Do I have to have a makeout song?"

"Everybody has a makeout song," she says, like he's such an idiot for not knowing that.

"Do they?"

She nods.

He wraps his fingers around her arm and gives her a disarming smile and stands up from the bed. 

"I have a makeout song," he declares.

Skye gets out of bed as well, standing at the opposite end of the room, watching him, half-naked, rummage through the pile of records. He lets out a cute sound of satifaction when he finds what he was looking for. Skye grins. The punk tune starts.

Coulson turns around, that dark gaze she likes so much. He crosses the room.

"Makeout songs are for making out, right?" he says.

"Are they now?"

She glances up at him with a half smile. Coulson reaches out for her and holds on to her arm, pulling her in. Close.

He is kissing her like a horny teenager, it's kind of adorable, and also kind of hot, the way he grabs her hips and presses her against the dresser, lifting her up so he can stand between her legs, grinding against her with urgency, as if they hadn't just had sex some minutes ago. And Skye melts into it, into his every gesture, touching his short hair, his bare stomach, and pulling him closer, smiling against his sudden hurry. She feels more than loved in here, in Coulson's room – she feels free.

It's kind of fun, not having hang ups with someone in bed. Skye has always been very guarded, physically – she had her reasons. And when the whole Obelisk thing changed her she felt like she could never be comfortable in her own body again. But she is, comfortable in her body and in Coulson's hands. And she had forgotten how much fun it could be, having a lover, needing someone like this, like there's no tomorrow.

It's still new, so new, they are still learning each other.

Skye lets him kiss her for a while, lazy arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, feeling her own arousal come back in full force as his half-hard cock presses against her through the fabric of his boxers. She likes how Coulson doesn't hide his greediness around her. The poor fool, he wants her so much. Oh, well, she can't blame him.

Then she puts her hands on his chest, gently pushing him away while she laughs into his mouth.

"I was thinking more along the lines of... this other thing."

She goes to the player, crossing the room. She is wearing his t-shirt, which, okay, so _cliched_ , but she doesn't care, she likes it. His t-shirts are really nice, really soft, and they smell like him.

She picks up the record, she finds it easily, it's among those their favorites, for both of them. And she lets the needle drop gently, just like Coulson taught her. He was totally flirting with her when he taught her how to operate the player, right? A lot of their past interactions seem wonderfully suspect now. Even if it's not true – and Coulson would probably deny it – Skye likes to think he was flirting with her back then.

The song starts and she has her back turned to him.

He follows her across the room as Chet Baker starts to complain about the weather, ruined golf dates.

Skye likes this song, it's kind of moany, but in a self-deprecating way. She likes the way the guy goes _I fell in love just once and then it had to be with you_ , like falling in love is really bad luck but sweetly inevitable. She doesn't know why but she really likes that part.

Coulson reaches her, hugging her from behind, one hand across her hipbone, the one on her stomach, brushing his lips against Skye's ear. She covers his hand with hers, pushing her whole body back against his chest.

"This is your makeout song?" he asks, laying wet kisses on the curve of her neck. Skye is almost about to tell him that when she was fifteen it was Kylie Minogue and he should be grateful for the improvement. She gets distracted by his mouth, the way his free hand pushes her hair away as he sucks on her neck.

He licks the sweat off her skin, sweat he put there.

Skye guides his hand between her legs.

"You're a romantic," he says against her nape.

Yes, I am, Skye thinks.


	20. Chapter 20

**richard hell | r.i.p. | 1984**

She hasn't opened her eyes yet.

"What's that noise?"

Coulson groans. "You're like a parent; it's not noise, it's music."

She tries to sit up on the bed but only gets halfway, suddenly remembering everything, remembering pain. She doesn't have to remember pain, it's here all right. She doesn't know what hurts more, her head or her stupid arm. No, it's her stupid arm. And why is it so heavy? Apparently they had to put her in a cast, or maybe she knew that and forgot. Fine, she's alive, but she's not sure it's worth it.

She stares out at Coulson through half-closed eyes. He goes and stops the music.

"I think it's in pretty bad taste to be playing a record called _RIP_ under the circumstances," she points out.

Coulson smiles. Probably impressed by her knowledge of his collection. He should know better.

"I thought you liked my sense of humor," he replies. Then, softer: "I was trying to wake you up with the – _noise_. You've slept long enough."

She wonders how long she's been out, really. Too muddled to keep track of time.

There's those lines on Coulson's forehead that tell Skye there's something underneath his teasing.

"I'm in your bed," she notices.

"Simmons released you under house arrest."

She touches her head, winces. That was a good idea, not leaving her alone.

She looks around. Yes, they definitely moved her into his room. She remembers, vaguely, a conversation about moving her out of the uncomfortable lab, but Simmons had pointed out she needed constant supervision. It's all fuzzy thanks to the painkillers.

"I think this pretty much ruins our whole secret affair vibe."

Coulson gives her a pained smile.

"I'm sorry. I should have consulted it with you."

"No, it's okay. I was kind of unconscious for that conversation. And you know I don't mind."

He nods. Neither of them have been particularly looking forward to the rest of the team knowing they are a couple, though sharing the information is long overdue. Skye can't imagine anyone would be surprised. They haven't been caught but she spends most nights in his room, someone was bound to notice.

In the end she is glad they have got it over with – and she wasn't even there for the awkward reveal so, bonus there.

Coulson takes a seat on the bed by her side, trying not to make her more uncomfortable. He looks down at her arm.

"Don't do that again," he tells her.

"What? That? No, it was really dangerous. I'm so not doing that again."

Bringing down the roof on the bad guys seemed like an awesome, superhero-worthy plan at the time. Skye didn't count on the possibility that she might get trapped under it as well. She's lucky she only got a concussion and a broken arm. She's lucky, she knows that.

"No. Scare me like that," Coulson says and his voice is _really_ weird. "I had no idea this was going to be so difficult."

"What?"

"Having the responsibility of putting someone I love at risk. I was not prepared for that."

Skye gives him a look.

"Wow. I must have been touch and go for a moment there, because you don't usually get this generous with the sappy."

He frowns.

Okay, so she really almost died. He shouldn't tease him. He looks totally and completely spooked about it.

"I didn't stop and think it would be like this. The choices are not harder, they have always been hard," he adds. "You've always...They are just a different kind of hard."

His voice sounds shaken.

He must have been holding on to that one for a while, she feels.

It's not that she didn't think about it, it's that she avoided thinking about it.

Coulson has to send her out there every day. He has to.

Skye can't imagine how difficult it must be for him, giving orders that might get his lover killed. She's not sure she could do it. Put Coulson in danger. She accepts danger is part of their lives and she would never want Coulson locked in an office, but she's not sure she could be the one to make the call. She wants to believe she'd be strong enough, strong like him.

She hopes this is not the part in the superhero movie where one has to choose between duty and love. She tilts her head at Coulson's pensiveness.

"You're not about to say something stupid about not being able to work together, right?"

He shakes his head softly. "No. I like working with you too much."

"Good."

He touches the back of her hand. It's a curiously shy gesture, after all that's happened between them.

"I'm not going to ask you not to do something risky, you know that," Coulson says. "But I want to ask you that before you do something risky you take a moment and think about me, about us. Then you do your thing."

She smiles at the wording. Us. They have always been an us, even before they became an _us_. But she likes hearing it.

She wraps her fingers around his.

"Okay," she says. "I promise."


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> these are getting fluffier and fluffier oh my.

**the manhattans | dedicated to you | 1965**

He watches her scurry through the room, looking for the freaking white shirt. She's pretty sure she keeps it in his room. She forgets where she keeps each thing, living between her bunk and the director's quarters. She's pretty sure she's packed enough clothes already. 

They were listening to a new record – Coulson has begun buying music again. There's something about that fact, how his collection starts to grow again, and why, and how he is no longer stuck. It makes her want to spend the day here with him, listening to his new purchases and fooling around.

She has the feeling she is still missing something, other than her shirt.

"It's okay, I'm only going to be gone for a couple of weeks," she says, checking the drawers again. "Tops."

"You've said that."

"Because it's true."

"Skye."

She doesn't look at him. She knows the face he must be making. The lovely, supportive, horrible face he must be making. Damn him.

"Where the hell did you put my shirt?" she frets. She didn't think she was the kind of person who fretted. "I know it's big enough to fit you but you shouldn't steal my clothes, I don't have that many."

"Skye," he tries again, reaching his hand to catch her. "Stop for a moment. Calm down. Sit with me."

"I don't have time. Mack is waiting for me, I want to be downtown by two."

"Please?" he asks.

She stops.

She made this decision a while ago, took care of all the preparations, safety measures. It still came all of the sudden, today, the day she actually is going to do it.

She doesn't really need that many clothes, it's just a short visit.

"You don't have to be nervous," Coulson tells her.

She gives him a tiny smile, which is more than she's done all morning. "All things considered, I think I have. I'm a freak and he's my freak of a father."

Coulson grimaces at the wording. Well, Skye thinks, a bit unfairly, he's in love with a freak, he should be able to take the language.

"Sorry," she says. "It's just –"

"I know."

She's been in contact, they've talked, he sounds better –whatever that means, apart from her gut feeling that the guy is trying, really trying– but she hasn't seen her father face to face since Puerto Rico. It's time, she knows that. She doesn't want to to let on she's scared –of so many things, but specially of it not being the disaster she anticipates– because she is Skye, she doesn't do scared. She doesn't sit down with Coulson but she walks up to him, resting her hands on his shoulders and finally drawing a deep breath in front of the person who knows that indeed, Skye does scared, she does scared a lot.

"It's okay, it'll be okay," she says, not sure who she is trying to convince.

"I know," Coulson says.

"He says he's doing better – I have to make sure. If he's still a risk. I can't ignore it."

"You don't have to do this," he tells her. She knows that. But Coulson has been gently pushing her towards it, knowing it was time. The guy pretty much beat Coulson to death and Coulson still has that kind of hope for her, that she has a family. She _has_ a family, and Coulson is a big freaking fool not to realize that, to imagine she is missing something. She's not doing this for her father. She's not entirely doing this for herself, if she thinks about it.

"I want to do this. I need to know." Coulson nods. "I don't owe him anything but I think I owe it to my mother to know something about her, and he is the only one who can help. And I want to see where I come from, the village, everything."

Coulson rests his hand over her elbow and doesn't warn her not to let her father mess with her mind. She knows that already. And Coulson has to trust her on this. He has to let her go. And he does.

She brings her lips to his temple.

He glances up at her in surprise.

"Try not to bring down the whole organization without me," she tells him.

He narrows his eyes at her. "I was doing just fine before you came."

"No. No, Coulson, you were doing lousy before you met me, lousy."

"Yes, I was doing lousy," he admits.

The grip on her arm tightens a bit and Skye leans down so he can kiss her. If she thinks about it ths is the first time she is going to spend a considerable amount of time without seeing him. Even the bad days when he became Director and was away all the time she could catch a glimpse of him every few days, maybe even get a sentence out of him. They have been pretty tight ever since they met. This feels kind of strange. She slides her mouth over his neck, a spot she knows he likes having attention on.

"Don't forget to miss me," she whispers.

He draws his hand over the curve of her hip.

"I'll try to remember."

"You'd better."

"Skye?"

"Yes?"

"Come back."

She looks at him, the way his eyes are getting all soft and pleading. He looks old and tender and beautiful and desperate. She doesn't want to make light of his fears but she has to smile at the sight, she has to.

"You're worried I won't?" she asks, trying to be playful.

"No. I'm not worried. I can't be. This is important to you. I want you to go."

She climbs on the bed, stradding him where he sits.

"Coulson," she says, grabbing his head in her hands. "You're my home now. Of course I'll come back."

He smiles at her a bit hopelessly. Like this is the first time someone says something like this to him. It might as well be. In some regards he's as much of an orphan as she is. She kisses that sadness out of him.

"Maybe I can make it up to you," she says. "Give you some kind of – a promise? A reassurance?"

Coulson arches an eyebrow, suspicious. "Are you proposing?"

"Don't mock me." She slaps his shoulder tenderly. "You know one day I'll make an honest man out of you."

"And you know I look forward to it."

Then she kisses the smirk out of his face.

She pushes him down against the matress, covering his body with hers. She's not going to see him for a couple of weeks, it just hits her. She's not going to have _this_ for a while.

"I'm going to miss you, too."

"I know," he says, cupping her face with one hand.

"I'm scared," she says.

"I know," threading his fingers through her hair. He smiles up at her. "I just remembered where you left your shirt – it's in the Bus, in my closet."

Skye props herself on her elbow, glancing down at him accusingly. "So _you were_ stealing my clothes."

"Now you have a good reason to come back," he tells her.

Skye kisses him, briefly, almost chastely. But not quite.

"Now I have _two_ good reasons," she tells him.


	22. Chapter 22

**blossom dearie | sings comden and green | 1959**

She finds him in the office.

Is he hiding away, overwhelmed? No, he's not, he's searching for something, going through the stuff in his drawers.

"The team is getting restless," she tells him. "I don't think we ordered enough food. What are you doing?"

"Looking for a record. It's not in our room. I think..." he trails off, searching the cabinets.

He seems a little too intense.

She touches his back.

"Are you okay?" she asks, amused at his nervousness. A couple of hours ago she would have understood him being nervous, but now... Now they just have to sit back and relax, the worst part is over.

He turns to face her and Skye can tell he has already forgotten all about the record he'd been searching so fervently. Just the way he's looking at her. It get her right there and _right there_ , thank you. To have him looking at her like that every day. Oh, right, that was the idea.

"Of course I'm okay," he replies.

They stare at each other like idiots.

Like they want to kiss each other but they don't dare for some reason, or are worried about complicated matters of protocol.

"Hey. You were right, _you can_ pull this suit off," Skye says, running one hand over the line of his shoulder, looking all elegant and handsome despite the change of wardrobe. She's totally allowed to think he's the most elegant and handsome guy today, isn't she.

"Of course."

He arches his eyebrow, giving her an appraising look as well.

She looks down at her dress. It's a bit too short and summery for the occassion, but she likes it. It's blue, which had prompted Coulson to quote _Casablanca_ (which had prompted Skye to say _oh boy_ and take his arm and lead him away, secretly delighted by the comparsion). She doesn't know if it's fitting. She has no idea how to do days like today, so she decides to just enjoy it.

"We can order more food if you're worried," Coulson says, one of those little simple things he offers which stand for huge, important things Skye knows he would give her in a heartbeat.

"No way. I'm not maxing out SHIELD's credit card just because Bobbi and Mack have a problem controlling their impulses. Plus it's time everybody stops eating and starts _drinking_. And that includes you and specially me."

"Ah, yes," he agrees. 

He looks a bit distracted, though, a bit dazed by it all. Last night he confessed that this all still seemed a bit unreal to him. She had teased him about it, with lights already out, saying something about how she was just making good on a promise, wrapping her arms around his side and brushing her palm against the scar on his chest to make a point.

She tugs at his sleeve.

She might be sentimental about this but she likes to think that's why they were put in each other's paths in such a strange fashion, to make sure all of their scars heal and don't hurt anymore.

"Hey," she calls. "Thank you."

He frowns. "For marrying you?"

Skye rolls her eyes. 

"Not that. I'm a total catch, you're lucky I said yes."

"I'm well aware of that," he teases. He wasn't the one who proposed, after all. It wasn't a great proposal, she kind of botched it up when the moment came. She's lucky he said yes.

"Thank you for giving me a family," she says, more seriously now.

He shakes his head, running his hands down her arms comfortingly. She knows that it means something to him, that she uses that word. She's pretty sure Coulson would have invited her father if she had asked.

"You don't have to thank me. It's a privilege." Very solem and charming. Which girl could resist?

She touches the lapels of his suit, the narrow tie.

"So. What record were you going to pick?"

"Uh?"

He has totally forgotten, she was right. 

"You were about to bring some music downstairs."

"Yeah, I think I left it here."

They have two record players now, and the records are scattered all over the base. No wonder he can't remember where he left which. Coulson is very organized with it comes to some things, when it comes to others... not so much. It's suits Skye just fine, she's sort of the same, and together they fill in each other's gaps.

They look for it together.

But then they get bored and she turns around and Coulson presses her against the desk, slipping his mouth over hers. They kiss as if they haven't kissed in days. That is to say, they kiss like they normally do. Skye touches the side of his head; he cut his hair this morning, wanting to look good. She finds it oddly touching. Skye had never thought she'd have a day like today, or that weddings could be humble and small and pretty, or that she'd ever want one of those. She also never imagined she'd end up having superhero-like powers, so she's sort of used to surprises. Nothig as surprising as falling in love with Coulson, of course, and she feels like waxing poetic on the subject.

"We'd better get back quick," she tells him in a mock-urgent tone. "I'm feeling a bit sappy in here."

"And we can't have that," Coulson says, chuckling. He glances at the stack of records. "Music?"

"Let me pick then," Skye tells him. "Any requests?"

"Something slow?" he asks.

"Good idea." He lifts his hand to her hip, very purposedly. "Oh, no, no, no, Mister Director Husband, they are waiting downstairs. And this time they will come looking for us."

He sighs, disappointed at having to let go. "Okay." He helps her straighten her dress.

Skye picks the record. Something slow. One of those lady singers Coulson favors. She knows which song she wants to dance to. Because oh yes, they are going to dance. That's why they have to start drinking and soon. 

She takes another look at him. Forget handsome and elegant. He looks happy. He should – but you know, she's kind of proud. He makes her happy and she wants to return the favor.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing. Come on."

She takes his hand in hers. Coulson look downs at it, their fingers laced together, like it's the most fantastical thing that has happened all day. Skye shakes her head and squeezes tight and drags him across the office.

When they reach the door, when she already has it open, Coulson stops her, touching his fingertips to her bare shoulder, like he is considering her dress again.

"Hey," he calls.

She turns around. "What?"

"Thank you."

She grins.

"For marrying you? Yeah, you should be thanking me. You're fifty-four, you have no money and you work like thirteen hours a day. Who else is going to have you?"

"Not that," he replies. "Thank you for giving me a home."

Skye glances up at him.

"Okay," she says, leaving the record on the drawer.

"Okay what?"

She closes the door again, leaning her back against the glass. She reaches her hand out and gently she twists one hand into that nice suit of his, tugging, pulling him close.

"Okay, but if we get interrupted I'm going to be so pissed off."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Coulson says, all smug and smirking, slipping one hand under her dress.

They dance to something slow.


End file.
